


Homecoming Display

by Bekaylo



Series: Arezzo [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Clock Watching, HYDRA Husbands, Harmlessly Intended Coercion Due To Sleepiness, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent Due To Sleepiness, Painful Sex, Sleepiness, Sleepy Sex, Wuthering Heights Mention, mention of BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5062048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bekaylo/pseuds/Bekaylo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brock glanced at the clock.It was 03.00. Jack should have been home a half hour or so ago. Brock’s eyelids were starting to feel heavy and the text blurred a little. Time to stop reading about miserable assholes on windswept moors and relax. He wanted to be awake when Jack returned.</p><p>Right now Brock missed the smell of Jack and his own body spray wafting from the sheets. He was missing Jack.<br/>This was a window of opportunity in terms of Jack catching Brock at his most amenable, pliant and open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming Display

**Author's Note:**

> Once again many thanks to Iainkillsrobots (Little Anti-Christ) for editing/beta-ing.
> 
> This is Part Two of Arezzo.

Brock sat propped up in Jack’s bed, waiting. He was reading the book ‘Wuthering Heights’, one of the dark, old fashioned novels Jack had taken to reading so many of. Brock had never been a great recreational reader, but Jack had worn him down about that a while ago.

After trying a few political thrillers and biographies, Brock had finally tried this very old, British fiction. Once he got his head around the weird language, he had at least understood why Jack had talked about this Heathcliff guy for weeks.

Brock glanced at the clock.It was 03.00. Jack should have been home a half hour or so ago. Brock’s eyelids were starting to feel heavy and the text blurred a little. Time to stop reading about miserable assholes on windswept moors and relax. He wanted to be awake when Jack returned.

He put the book down on the night-stand and lay down on his side. Jack’s bed was very comfortable, a good quality orthopaedic mattress for the benefit of Jack’s back had been a good investment. They needed a sturdy mattress too, admittedly… Brock grinned a little.

Jack had mainly simple tastes. His motorbike hobby was cheap, buying scrap parts and busted up old bikes and reconditioning them. He had years’ worth of serviceable tools collected and he often saved Brock money too. Servicing and fixing Brock’s car, shaking his head and saying Brock should learn to do this himself. Happily tinkering while Brock stood looking decorative and passing tools and parts as prompted.

Brock knew his way around an engine, but kind of liked Jack taking care of his things. It was the kind of thing a boyfriend might do—or a buddy, of course.

Jack did like good quality bed linens and fluffy pillows, however. Brock stretched on the Egyptian cotton sheets; they felt soft and smooth on his bare skin. He was awaiting Jack's return naked. He knew that after three days Jack was probably going to be all over him, hands everywhere. Brock really wanted to be awake for him, but the clock display said 03:04 and it shimmered in his tired eyes.

He stretched again, trying to stay awake and one of his hands brushed the brass headboard. The bed was antique, a frame bed that had belonged to Jack’s grandparents. Jack would have sold it along with a lot of the fussy older things in the small house he had inherited if it weren't for Brock. Brock had remarked on the ‘kinky bars’ and so the bed had stayed.

The bars were good to grasp onto for dear life sometimes and on occasions provided added fun at bedtime, with Brock cuffed to them, or restrained with Jack's belt. Brock grinned to himself again and glanced at the clock—03:08. The sheets were smooth and soft, the bed comfortable. The only thing missing was Jack.

The sheets smelled fresh and clean because Jack always said fresh bed linen was one of life’s rewards after a long day. Right now Brock missed the smell of Jack and his own body spray wafting from the sheets. He was missing Jack. 

Brock felt he had done the right thing by making the bed up with fresh linen. It was an almost sacred trust that he would take care of Jack's house while he was away. Jack was an accomplished demolitions/explosives expert and was assigned to work outside STRIKE Team Alpha on a frequent basis. He hated leaving his house unattended and gathering dust and he trusted Brock to housesit for him.

The first time he had done so, Jack had returned and brushed a finger over a bookshelf and held it up to show a thin film of dust. He had frowned, wagged the finger slowly, and tut-tutted theatrically. Then advanced on Brock, unbuckling his belt with an air of playful menace. Or at least Brock was pretty sure it was playful, for the most part.

What had followed taught Brock the proper way to care for Jack’s house in his absence. It also highlighted a useful source of provocation if Brock wanted to push certain buttons, but that was in hindsight. At the time, Brock was left in no doubt that he was being taught a lesson and it made his ass tingle and his dick twitch just thinking about it now. But that was no good, thinking about something that might make him need to jerk off now, when he needed to be ready for Jack.

He glanced at the clock—03:10. It was hard to keep his eyes open... He drifted off.

There was sound, always the first sense to return, and then Brock’s eyes were open again. The clock said 03:40. There was rustling behind him, the sound of breathing, and he turned over. There was enough light in the bedroom from the clock and street lighting to make out a large figure next to the bed and Brock was alert at once.

It was Jack, shuffling and stumbling out of his pants and grunting softly.

“...Jack…!” Brock squirmed over to be closer to him. 

“Hi,” Jack murmured in return. He sounded tired. He moved forward and bent down to put one hand on the mattress. The other hand brushed over Brock’s hair.

“Scoot over, that’s my side,” said Jack, a creature of habit. There was an urgency to his movements as Brock wriggled back to the far side of the bed and Jack lowered and folded himself in after him. He reached for Brock, putting one arm over him and sighed, a relieved sound, running a hand up and down Brock’s back. 

Brock was tired still but suddenly very happy and more than okay with the idea that Jack was probably about to initiate a very special greeting. Jack's hand wandered down and brushed around Brock’s lower back, then settled further down on his ass, giving it a gentle, speculative groping. 

Jack sighed contently. “I missed you,” he said. He touched his forehead to Brock’s. “Tired.” His fingers ghosting up and down Brock’s asscrack were surprisingly soothing and restful. But Brock was tired enough that he felt slightly relieved when Jack added, “Gotta sleep…” and drifted right off with his face in front of Brock’s. Brock followed him in under a minute, blissfully.

Less than half an hour later, the clock said 04:00 and Brock was awake again with an instinctive squirm and quite a start. Jack, still sounding soft and sleepy, was muttering his name and murmuring how beautiful he was. He was nuzzling Brock’s neck and had (at least) two fingers inside him. Sticky and clearly lubricated, but startling.

“Ssh, it's okay, it’s me, missed you so much, want you so bad.”

Brock grunted and wriggled and Jack flipped him on his front, his movements insistent but still slightly clumsy with sleep. This was why it had been a good idea to get a nap in before Jack woke up. He was really on a mission.

Jack manoeuvred himself further up and over Brock and removed his fingers, slid an arm under Brock’s hips, and pulled his lower body back and up. And then he pressed a rock hard erection against Brock’s asscrack. 

“Fuck, I missed you,” Jack informed him again, and pushed into him.

The brass bed ‘kinky bars’ were once again a good thing to cling to. The sturdy orthopaedic mattress felt like a wise investment as Jack took out his three days of Brock-deprivation on Brock’s ass. It was fucking awful, at face value. Brock stifled cries of pain and pleasure in equal parts in the pillow. He was ashamed of his response to both as always.

Jack came with an obscene groan and took care of Brock as always, reaching round to jerk him off. Brock could not contain the needy, whiny noises he could hear himself making. Jack seemed to like them, whispered breathily how pretty they sounded and how beautiful Brock was.

So much for freshly laundered sheets. But Brock lay in a blissful state with Jack next to him, a big soft, satiated lump now, one heavy leg and one gentle arm over his thighs and shoulders respectively. There was a mixture of raw soreness and euphoria flooding his senses and he peacefully content overall.

This was a window of opportunity in terms of Jack catching Brock at his most amenable, pliant and open. 

Jack recognised his own flaws well enough. He knew he was capable of violence and some degree of sadism. He also knew Brock was one of the few people he had ever cared about and he cared deeply. It was convenient Brock had a masochistic streak a mile wide but Jack knew there were so many issues along with that. Brock thought himself weird because he was sometimes what he called a ‘painslut’ and a ‘cockslut’ and he was uncomfortable with his own attraction to men.

Jack thought he knew what might have deepened Brock’s issues. Jack knew all about Captain Woods, their first STRIKE lead after their Hydra training. He was convinced there was more to that than Brock had told him and he blamed that man for making Brock even more messed up than he has admittedly been when they first met. 

“Brock... Pookie?” said Jack quietly, his face near Brock’s again. He could speak to him that way in these moments. “I was thinking... We should go away. We've got leave owing. How about we go to Italy? Tuscany, where your Nona came from?”

Brock brushed some sweat or tears or something off his cheek against the pillow and wrinkled his nose at Jack. Jack smiled at him encouragingly.

“Plenty of guys go on vacation together. It’s not queer,” he said.

“Wasn't gonna say that,” said Brock. “It’s just… Okay, it sounds a bit… like that,”

“Just buddies going on a break,” said Jack. 

Brock studied his face with a thoughtful expression then nodded. “Tuscany,” he said. “Arezzo. I always meant to go there with her, my Nona, but you know… work, life… Sounds like a good idea. We should do that.” He smiled.

Jack grinned broadly. “Great!” He kissed Brock’s ear. “So… you hungry? I'm hungry. Wanna sandwich? Keep your strength up for Round Two?”

Brock grinned sleepily and nodded. It was a wonderful homecoming.


End file.
